We may never feel whole.
“Your body isn’t functioning as it should; we might need to explore using an egg donor.” There I sat, in front of a doctor I had trusted and invested in for an entire year. My partner waited in the car during the peak of the COVID-19 pandemic, unable to join me for this life-altering appointment. I had just completed my second IVF cycle, resulting in one embryo that, when tested, turned out to be abnormal.
From the moment I understood how conception worked, I was taught to prevent it at all costs. I began taking birth control at 13, cycling on and off for the next 11 years. When my partner and I were finally ready for a baby, I discarded my pills, expecting to conceive within a month—just like I had been led to believe. “All it takes is one time,” my doctor assured me. Here I am, after countless attempts, still waiting.
We are fortunate to have one wonderful little boy, conceived after six months with the help of Clomid, my best friend in this journey. But it was only when we began trying for a second child that I learned about my Diminished Ovarian Reserve (DOR), secondary infertility, and my partner’s low morphology. This diagnosis hit me hard. Many women share the same fear: that there will be something wrong with their eggs. I am naturally anxious and often find myself overwhelmed by worries, especially when trying to conceive. “It’s your fault.” “There’s something wrong.” “You were on birth control too long.” Never did I imagine this would be my reality.
Learning I had DOR felt like a punch to the gut. This means my egg reserve is alarmingly low, making it more challenging to conceive as my eggs deplete more quickly than they should for my age. My AMH level resembled that of a woman in her mid-30s to early 40s, while I was only 27. I was at the same age my mother was when she had me. This issue had been present when I conceived my son at 24, but I was never informed until now. I immediately began taking recommended supplements and vitamins, determined to defy the odds.
Ladies, please get your AMH levels checked. Even if you’re not planning to have kids right away, it’s crucial to know what’s happening in your body. I had no symptoms or signs; my periods were always regular. I was completely unaware of my DOR.
Before consulting with my Reproductive Endocrinologist, my partner and I attempted to conceive naturally for seven months. By the eighth month, I reached out to my OB for some assistance from my best friend, Clomid. After my first dose, I was ecstatic to discover I was pregnant. I eagerly began planning our life for a second child. However, two weeks later, I faced heartbreak when I miscarried.
Although devastated, I picked myself up and pressed on. Two months passed with Clomid, but there was still no success. That’s when we sought help from a reproductive specialist and received the distressing diagnosis.
The initial plan involved IUIs, which my insurance covered. Each month, I took Clomid, attended monitoring appointments, and triggered with Ovidrel, an injection to facilitate ovulation. After each insemination, I left with confidence, convinced I would soon be pregnant.
Eventually, the time came to consider IVF, something I hadn’t planned on. I knew little about the process or its costs, but I was willing to try. On the day I was set to start my medication, I went for an early monitoring appointment. Anticipation turned to despair when my doctor called, informing me I couldn’t start treatment because I was pregnant. However, he suspected it wasn’t a viable pregnancy due to low hormone levels. He was correct; three weeks later, I miscarried again.
I was done waiting. IVF became my only option.
We signed the paperwork, made the financial commitment, and began the medication. Two weeks later, I underwent egg retrieval. Upon waking from anesthesia, my doctor informed me he retrieved only seven eggs. I was deeply disappointed, but it was a common outcome given my condition. A week later, we learned that none of the embryos had developed properly. Heartbroken, yet determined, I pressed on.
We quickly initiated a second round of IVF. Needles, bloodwork, appointments, and mood swings filled my days. Retrieval day arrived. This time, my doctor reported eight eggs retrieved—not the number I hoped for, but an improvement. A week later, we learned that only one embryo had made it to the blastocyst stage and would be tested. I felt a glimmer of hope, but I remained realistic about the odds. A week later, the news came: our lone embryo was abnormal and would not result in a healthy pregnancy.
This felt like another miscarriage. Each fertilized embryo was a part of us, a tiny creation filled with hope. I hadn’t anticipated feeling so robbed; waking up after retrieval and realizing I had lost my little ones was overwhelming. I understood IVF wasn’t guaranteed, but with two failed attempts, it felt as though I was facing a dead end.
Seeking a second opinion led to new tests: an HSN and a biopsy. While the biopsy came back normal and no endometriosis was detected, a polyp in my uterus was found and needed removal. Initially, my first doctor had suggested surgery, but I wasn’t ready then. Deep down, I had concerns about potential blockages or leftover tissue from my miscarriages.
I agreed to the surgery, which occurred that same week. Upon waking up, I learned the polyp was absent, possibly having resolved on its own, but they discovered stage 2 and 3 endometriosis, which they removed. I had no signs or symptoms of this condition, and even the biopsy was negative. Without the surgery, I would have remained unaware.
Both my partner and I facing reproductive issues leaves us feeling like our options are dwindling, our finances are stretched, and all we can do is hope for that elusive surprise baby—the kind we’ve only seen portrayed on television.
I am grateful for my one beautiful son and cherish every moment with him. He gives my life purpose. All I’ve ever wanted was to provide him with a sibling, but if that isn’t in the cards, I will dedicate myself to his happiness. Though he may be spoiled and stubborn, he will know he was loved fiercely, and we tried so hard to give him a built-in best friend. While we have one more IVF cycle covered by insurance, we aren’t ready to continue after our recent disheartening results.
It’s a constant internal struggle to be thankful for him while longing for another child. I sometimes feel like I don’t belong in the infertility community because I have one child. Yet, it often seems like everyone else is moving forward while I am still waiting for the next chapter to unfold. I dream of a lively home filled with two children, the joyful chaos of toys scattered across the living room, and the excitement of Christmas mornings filled with wrapping paper. I want sibling squabbles to break up and the beautiful noise of family life.
I am frustrated with my body for not functioning as it should. I can provide my son with material things and experiences, but I cannot give him the sibling he deserves. Our journey to expand our family will always feel incomplete. We will continue to fight and never give up.
For more insights and resources on fertility treatment, check out this excellent guide from March of Dimes. If you’re interested in artificial insemination, you can find helpful information and products at Make A Mom and explore other topics on home insemination at Home Insemination Kit.
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Summary:
The journey of trying to conceive can be filled with unexpected challenges and diagnoses, such as Diminished Ovarian Reserve and low morphology. This personal story highlights the emotional rollercoaster of infertility treatments, the importance of early testing, and the desire for a larger family while navigating heartbreak and hope.